


and you see infinity

by girlpearl



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Community: bandom_meme, Early Days, Hiatus, M/M, Mirrors, Post-Hiatus, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpearl/pseuds/girlpearl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the <a href="http://bandom-meme.dreamwidth.org/18173.html?thread=606973#cmt606973">bandom_meme prompt</a> "Pete/Patrick, mirrors, early mornings"</p>
            </blockquote>





	and you see infinity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akamine_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/gifts).



1\. 

It's so late it's really morning; the first orange sunlight is starting to leak in around the curtains and Patrick can faintly hear birdsong over the sound of Joe and Andy playing Grand Theft Auto. They've been up all night, writing songs, playing video games, but mostly blue-skying about the future, about how awesome it's going to be when they're a world-famous rock band. More than once Pete has referred to Patrick as his "golden ticket," and Patrick still isn't sure how he feels about that. It's a lot of pressure. It's also probably a lot to be thinking about when he's running on Mountain Dew and Pete's admittedly contagious enthusiasm.

"I'm gonna turn in, guys," Patrick says. Joe and Andy acknowledge him with a grunt and a nod when he stands and stretches the kinks out of his back. Pete just gives him a thoughtful look. Well. Patrick thinks it's thoughtful. He's still learning how to read Pete.

Patrick's mouth tastes like something died in it, and he knows it's only going to be worse when he wakes up. He didn't bring a toothbrush with him, so he just grabs Pete's, figuring fuck it, he's using it to clean his teeth, right, how dirty can it be?

Patrick spits into the sink and looks up, startled when his eyes catch on Pete's in the mirror. "Hey," he says, "what's up?"

Pete looks uncharacteristically solemn. His eyeliner is smudged, soft around the edges, and his hair is starting to frizz. It makes him look insubstantial, like he's only a memory or an echo of himself, which is why Patrick jumps a little when Pete speaks.

"It's going to be okay," he says, then shakes his head. "Fuck that, Patrick, we're going to be amazing. _You're_ going to be amazing."

"I want to be," Patrick tells him. "I want to make this work, but Pete, I've never--what if I'm not good enough?"

Pete's face splits into his trademark brilliant grin. "You're gonna have to trust me on this one, I know, but I promise, one thing we'll never have to worry about is you not being good enough."

Patrick smiles at him in the mirror. "You really think so?"

"Trust me," Pete says again, and Patrick does.

 

2.

They're somewhere between Cincinnati and Pittsburgh. Pete's driving, because he's the only one who's awake enough at 6:30am to be trusted behind the wheel. Joe's got one earbud in, the other dangling with Metallica sounding tinny and muted against the cotton of his t-shirt. Andy is curled up in the back, no doubt drooling on Patrick's spare jeans. 

Patrick knows he should be sleeping--it'll be his turn to drive soon enough, and they'd been up late after the show in Cincinnati--he's _trying_ , but he's cold, and the middle seat of the van has a bent spring in it, and the whole van smells like greasy takeout and spunk. Patrick's hungry pretty much all the time; leaving four teenage boys to fend for themselves does not make for a lot of healthy eating, and a steady diet of Wendy's and gas station pizza isn't as satisfying as one might think. He wants his own bed, and a shower, and his _mom_. And maybe it's not cool to admit that at his age, but if Patrick's being honest with himself, he's definitely homesick.

He sighs and looks out the window; he can't see much in the early morning light but Pete's face is illuminated in the side-view mirror. Pete locks eyes with him in the mirror and curls his lip into his trademark snarl. Patrick snorts and closes his eyes, then opens them, crosses them, and sticks out his tongue. Pete gives a startled laugh and waggles his eyebrows--and his tongue--lasciviously. 

Patrick rolls his eyes; he can feel his cheecks flush, but there's something comforting about Pete being... well, Pete. He's incongruously reliable, constant and unchanging at a time when Patrick desperately needs a touchstone. Patrick rolls his jacket tighter under his head and settles into sleep. 

He wakes up to Andy smacking him on the foot and shouting, "Gas station break! Last chance to take a piss!" Pete's jacket is draped over Patrick like a blanket, and he feels warm and comfortable for the first time in ages.

 

3\. 

Patrick is warming up, pacing back and forth and singing Bobby Caldwell. "Got a thing for you," he croons, "can't let it go." He grabs a bottle of water and twists off the cap, sipping twice before screwing the cap back on and resuming his pacing. 

The green room is crowded, and Patrick brushes against Pete's elbow on his way past. 

"Watch it," Pete says, "I could lose an eye." There's no heat in his voice, but Patrick's careful not to jostle him again. Pete has his eyeliner pencil poised at the corner of one eye, and Patrick has to admit they're nice eyes; it would be a shame to lose one to his stage fright. 

He pauses in his pacing to watch the mirror as Pete runs the pencil along his lashes. It's a familiar routine, something Patrick's seen a hundred times, but he's never really _watched_ before. 

Pete lines his eyes with thick black powder, smudging it artfully with a fingertip and wiping the dust off on his jeans. He reaches for the flatiron and starts to straighten his hair. As he works, Patrick can see him transforming from Pete--insecure, generous, thoughtful--to Pete Wentz (tm)--showy, aggressively sexual, quippy and inconsequential. Patrick knows it's a performance, a mask, but even he has a hard time spotting the seams. 

Pete looks up to see Patrick staring at him. "What's up, Trick?" he asks.

Patrick smiles sadly at him. "Nothing," he says. "Just. Watching you."

"Making sure I'm still here?" Pete grins at him.

"Yeah," Patrick says. "just making sure."

 

4\. 

Patrick wakes up early in San Antonio. He does that a lot now, and he's not sure if that's a "growing up" thing or a "going solo" thing. Brendon and Spencer are silent in the next room; Spencer might be up, but Brendon definitely isn't--he's not the type to putter around quietly in the morning. Patrick gets up and goes to the bathroom; he brings a cup of water on the way out and starts the little cofeemaker running. He doesn't really even want a cup of shitty hotel-room coffee, but years of habit are hard to break--when you're the first one up, you make coffee.

Patrick sighs. He really ought to go for a run, but even at this hour, it's fucking hot in Texas. Whatever, he'll run in Sacramento. Patrick strips off his shirt and pajama bottoms, kicking them under the desk before grabbing a clean pair of boxers and his shampoo and going to take a shower.

He's still restless when he's done, but at least he's clean. He towels his hair dry and flicks it back out of his eyes--it's getting ridiculously long, but it works for him, he's enjoying it--then wraps the towel around his waist and grabs his razor. Patrick wipes the steam from the mirror with his arm, staring blurrily at his own hazy face and carefully not looking at the gaping void where nobody's standing behind him.

 

5\. 

The green room for Ellen's show is welcoming and familiar; she's always been good to them and Patrick has always liked her. It's generally always a good time, but he's still a little nervous this morning. They've all talked about being committed to this, no matter how the music is received, but things still feel very much up-in-the-air, and Patrick maybe has a little too much invested in the success of this record. He just needs to know that there's still an audience for them, that he hasn't screwed everything up irredeemably. 

"Quit freaking out," Pete says from behind him. Patrick looks up quickly. 

"I'm not," he says. In the mirror, Pete rolls his eyes at him. "I'm fine," Patrick says. "It's just a lot."

He studies Pete, noting the changes in the familiar reflection. Pete doesn't look old by any stretch, but the wrinkles around his eyes are deeper and there's grey at his temples now. There's also an ease in his face, a lack of the brutally obvious insecurity Pete used to wear. Pete winks at him, and Patrick's eyes snap to his own face. Neither of them is who they used to be; they've grown up a lot over the past four years. They've gotten better at this, Patrick thinks, at _life_. Maybe they needed that time to make it work, but they _are_ making it work, and maybe that's all that matters. 

 

+1

Patrick manages to extricate himself from the tangled mess of sheets and blankets and Pete's limbs and stagger into the bathroom. He hurts in places he didn't even know he had, but it's definitely a _pleasant_ ache. Mostly.

Patrick flushes the toilet and turns to the sink, grabbing a washcloth out of the cupboard. He runs it under the tap; the water in Pete's house is always slow to warm up in the morning, like the plumbing isn't awake yet. When it's hot, Patrick wrings the cloth out and dabs at the hair matted on his stomach. 

"Fucking gross," he mutters, then calls, "Jesus, Pete, did you have to get jizz everywhere? I've got come fucking glued to my skin."

"Shh," Pete says, slipping into the bathroom and wrapping himself around Patrick. "Don't wake the kids up."

Patrick continues scrubbing around his navel. "Bronx can sleep through anything, I'm not real worried."

Pete hooks his chin over Patrick's shoulder and slides his hands down to Patrick's waist. Patrick can't help but follow the movement of his hands in the mirror, watching Pete's fingers wrap around his soft, pale hips. "Yeah," Pete says, "probably. But if the baby wakes up, I won't get to take you back to bed and get you all messy again."

Probably there's a universe in which Patrick is able to resist Pete, but it's definitely not this one. Still... "I've got a better idea," Patrick says, his lips curling into a smirk. "Why don't we stay right here?"

Pete's eyes grow even wider. "Well," he says, kissing the side of Patrick's neck, "we do make quite the pretty picture."

"Yeah," Patrick agrees. "I could look at this forever."


End file.
